


Runaway Now and Forevermore

by AlexSW97



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Reddie are married, Running Away, Self-Harm, Stan Lives, Suicidal Thoughts, so does eddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSW97/pseuds/AlexSW97
Summary: “Is it bad?”“You’ve got a hole in your face, babe,” Richie told him, trying to clean some of the blood away from Eddie’s mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s not great.”---------------Or, Richie and Eddie run away together in 1994 and return to Derry in 2016 as actual bickering husbands.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! I hope you enjoy this! This wasn't supposed to be as angsty as it turned out to be, but here we are!
> 
> Title is from Youth by Troye Sivan :)

Eddie was nearly asleep when he heard the quiet tapping on his window. Had he not been used to his friends sneaking over in the middle of the night, a tap on his window probably would have felt straight out of his worst nightmare. “Worst nightmare” being relative, of course, because what even constituted as his worst nightmare anymore? Every night was filled with terror of red balloons, clowns, lepers, and twisted bodies in refrigerators. 

He pulled himself out of bed and opened the window, allowing Richie to climb through. Eddie flicked on his lamp, his stomach dropping at the sight of Richie’s face. He was sporting two black eyes, one swollen shut, a split lip, and a gash above one of his eyebrows. Blood had dripped from his brow all the way down his neck, staining the top of his shirt.

“Holy fuck, man,” Eddie whispered, rushing over to Richie to try and see his injuries better. “Are you- what- we need to clean you up.” He grabbed Richie’s arm, pulling him silently out of his room and into the bathroom across the hall, careful not to wake his mother. 

Eddie closed the door behind them, Richie sat on the toilet lid, still not saying a word. Eddie rummaged in the cupboard for the first aid kit, trying not to have a panic attack about Richie’s face. 

He grabbed a clean cloth, wetting it under warm water. He walked over to Richie and started carefully wiping the blood from his face. Richie winced at the contact but didn’t say a word. There was blood all over Richie’s hand. Eddie pulled his sleeve up to see a long gash on his forearm. He wiped the blood away there too. 

“Who did it?” Eddie found himself asking, just to break the silence. 

Richie shook his head. 

“ _ Who _ ?” Eddie pressed, pushing a lock of hair, matted with blood, out of Richie’s face. 

“My-” Richie started, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, taking a shaky breath. “My dad.”

“What the fuck?” Eddie pulled back to look at Richie’s expression to see if he was joking or not. “Has he done shit like this before?” 

Richie nodded. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Nothing- nothing  _ visible _ .” 

Eddie was silent for a minute, continuing to dab at Richie’s face. “What makes this time different?” 

Richie let out a surprisingly loud laugh at this, his open eye watering. “He found my  _ magazines _ .”

“Didn’t realise your dad was such a prude,” Eddie commented, grabbing a new, wet cloth and some disinfectant. “This’ll sting.”

“They- I’m-” Richie closed his eye, pulling his face away and taking a few deep breaths through his nose. “They were  _ gay _ magazines, Eds.”

“Fuck your dad,” Eddie spat, his heart clenching at Richie’s confession. Five years of crushing on a dude, and you find out he likes guys too? You’re going to be a little excited, even if the guy is bleeding all over the floor. “Seriously, what a fucking asshole. What a stupid reason to hurt someone. Let alone his own kid-”

“Eddie,  _ shh, _ your mom is going to hear, and you know how she gets when she hears my voice...”

“The “your mom” jokes don’t work too well anymore,” Eddie pointed out with a quiet laugh.

“I still have room in my heart for your mom,” Richie said with a smirk. Eddie dabbed the alcohol on Richie’s lip, earning a gasp. 

“I would offer to let you live here, but you know how my mom gets. Stan’s family could probably-”

“I’m leaving Derry,” Richie told him, grabbing his wrist to stop Eddie’s assault of his wounds. Eddie felt his stomach drop, his throat clenching. Richie was just going to- going to leave him? 

“Where-” it was Eddie’s turn for his voice to get stuck in his throat. “Where are you going?”

“Dunno, LA maybe?” Richie whispered, still not letting go of Eddie’s wrist. “Leaving in the morning.”

“I see,” Eddie whispered, pulling his wrist out and getting back to work on Richie’s face. He did his best to avoid looking Richie in the eye. He could feel the tears pricking away at his eyes, but he blinked them away quickly. 

“I want you to come with me,” Richie told him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact. Eddie’s heart skipped about seven beats. “If not,” he whispered, quieter, less confident this time. “I just want one more night with you.”

A heavy silence hung in the bathroom, but Richie didn’t let Eddie break the eye contact. Normally, a million thoughts, all the “what if’s”, would have been running through Eddie’s mind. Right now, however, the only thought running through Eddie’s mind was that this would be a great time to kiss Richie.

“You don’t-”

“My mom wakes up at six on Wednesdays, so we’ll have to be gone before then.” 

“What?” Richie asked, his eye roaming all over Eddie’s face, probably searching for a hint of humour. He wasn’t going to find any. 

“We need to be gone by six,” Eddie repeated. “My mom will have the entire police department searching for me by six o’ four, so we should get a head-”

Richie apparently had similar thoughts to Eddie, because the next thing Eddie knew, Richie’s lips were pressed to his. Eddie should probably be more worried at the fact Richie’s blood was literally  _ in his mouth _ but his brain was too busy flatlining for him to care. 

Richie pulled back quickly, his eyes going wide. “Sorry. Fuck- shit-” Eddie dropped onto Richie’s lap, his knees going onto either side of Richie’s hips, and pressed their mouths back together. Richie’s hands immediately went to Eddie’s back and pulled him closer. 

Eddie swiped his tongue along Richie’s bottom lip, the taste of iron filling his mouth. Richie gasped and Eddie pulled back away. “Sorry, I’m getting my spit in your cut.”

“You have my blood all over your face,” Richie laughed, grabbing the cloth from the counter and passing it over Eddie’s mouth and chin. “That’s fucking nasty.”

“You don’t have like, HIV, right?” Eddie asked, suddenly remembering a thousand and four reasons why you shouldn’t put other people’s blood in your mouth. 

“No, my blood won’t kill you, Spaghetti,” Richie told him, running his hand over the side of Eddie’s face. “You’re serious about coming with?” 

“Yes,” Eddie said, smiling softly. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Thought your smart ass was going to community college or something,” Richie said, dropping his hands to Eddie’s thighs. “Or at least that’s what your mom wants, isn’t it?”

“I applied to a bunch of universities outside of Maine,” Eddie admitted, leaning over to grab a bandage from the first aid kit. He peeled it open and stuck it on the cut above Richie’s eye. “I never wanted to stay here.”

“UCLA didn’t happen to be one of those, did it?” Richie asked. Eddie smiled, slipping off his lap and starting to clean the counter. 

“Perhaps,” Eddie told him, excitement rushing over him. He grabbed Richie’s hand, pulling him from the washroom, back into his room. “And perhaps,” he rummaged through the drawer in his desk, pulling out the letter from UCLA. “I got accepted.”

Richie grabbed the letter from him, his eyes going wide. “A full ride? Eddie that’s perfect.” 

“I know I am,” Eddie teased, pretending to flip his hair over his shoulder. “Shit, I need to pack.” He looked to Richie, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at the letter. “Didn’t you bring anything?” 

“I have a bag in my car. Parked around the corner so your mom wouldn’t see.”

“Smart.” Eddie pulled his duffle bag out from under his bed, and stared at his closet, not knowing where to start. 

“Do you still have those red booty shorts?” Richie asked. 

“No, dickwad. I’ve grown almost foot since I fit into those things.”

“Please, you grew maybe five inches, what are you? Five-six?”

“Five-seven,” Eddie told him through gritted teeth. He started rummaging through his clothes, pulling out an even selection of t-shirts and dress shirts, as well as both pants and jeans. 

“That’s a lot of fancy clothes, Eds.”

“Yes, Rich, I’m going to university. I need to look half-decent.”

“It’s only July, you don’t need them yet,” Richie pointed out as if they were going to have the funds to just go shopping for all the clothes they might need right away. Eddie rolled his eyes, and walked over to his dresser, pulling out various pairs of socks and underwear. “Nice panties.” 

“Every time you open your mouth, I regret agreeing to this,” Eddie muttered, continuing to pack. He filled his bag to the brim with clothes, and then pulled out a second duffle bag. Richie watched him quietly, before slipping off the bed and walking to the door. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ll be right back,” Richie whispered, sneaking out the door silently. Eddie continued to pack in silence, listening for Richie to fuck up and blow their cover. When he returned five minutes later, Eddie hadn’t heard a sound. 

“Thought you might want something out of here,” Richie said quietly, balancing a cardboard box on his hip as he closed the door. Eddie recognized the box instantly, feeling terrible that he hadn’t even thought about it. Richie set it down on the bed, and Eddie walked over, tracing his fingers over the messily written “Daddy”. 

“Thanks, Chee,” Eddie whispered, opening the box carefully. There weren’t many things inside. After his father’s death, his mom had gotten rid of most of his dad’s stuff, claiming that it was just taking up space. She had kept one small box of things, valuables and things Eddie refused to part with. She had told Eddie he wasn’t allowed to open the box, and so he never did. 

A photo lay on top, the corner ripped, deep creases across it from being carried around so often. In the photo, Eddie was riding on his dad’s shoulders, and his dad was laughing at the camera. It had been taken only a few months before his dad died. Eddie had carried the photo around everywhere for almost three years, until his mom found it and hid it away, claiming that it was only hurting Eddie more. 

He handed the photo to Richie, and carefully rummaged around the box, looking for more items. Most of it was his valuables, watches, his wedding rings, things his mom had probably kept just in case they needed to sell things for money. There were a few more photos of Eddie with his dad, which he handed to Richie silently, without really looking at them. 

Besides the photos, he also grabbed the dark green plaid shirt. His mom let him sleep with it for two nights after his dad died and then took it from him, because keeping it would only make it worse, apparently. He also grabbed a notebook full of his dad’s writing, and his favourite book that his dad would read to him. Maybe one day he’d read it to his own kid. 

He closed the box, letting a single tear fall from his eye before he went back to the washroom to pack a toiletry bag. He also made sure to pack a first aid kit, with plenty of disinfectant, thinking of the nasty cut above Richie’s eye. 

When he returned to his room, Richie had tucked the photos into the front of the journal and had started to collect the rest of the photos in Eddie’s room. Most of them were just the two of them, or with Stan, but there were a few of all of the Losers from when they were younger, and the last time Bev and Bill had come back to visit. 

“Alright,” Eddie whispered, taking the photos from Richie and placing them in the notebook. He zipped it up into the second bag, along with his toiletries. “Alright, I- that’s all I need.”

“You sure?” Richie asked, grabbing Eddie’s bags and setting them on the floor. Eddie shook his head, the reality of the situation starting to sink in. Richie sighed, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pulling him onto the bed. “You don’t have to do this, Eds.” 

“Yes I do, dipshit.”

“I don’t want to make you feel like I’m trying to force you into anything,” Richie whispered, ruffling Eddie’s hair. Eddie leaned forward, resting his forehead on Richie’s shoulder. 

“I can either leave with you, or never see you again. I don’t really have a choice-”

“You  _ do _ . You don’t  _ have  _ to-”

“I love you,” Eddie confessed, wrapping his arms around Richie. He crawled onto Richie’s lap, his head never leaving his shoulder. “I  _ love  _ you, Chee. Staying here isn’t an option. And that’s okay, because it’s dangerous here. I want to go somewhere where I can hold your hand, and take you on dates, and kiss you in the park. That would never happen here, and it’s so fucking stupid, but we have to leave if we really want to be happy.”

“I love you, too,” Richie whispered into his hair, rocking Eddie side to side. “I- fuck. Yeah. I want- I want that too. All of that. Yeah.” 

“You really have a way with words,” Eddie laughed, pulling back just enough to press a chaste kiss to Richie’s mouth, avoiding his cut. “We should sleep.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eddie’s alarm went off at 5:30, and he silenced it quickly, disoriented by the early hour. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Richie groaned beside him, tapping the beside blindly for his glasses. “Last chance to back out, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie mumbled, his voice deep from sleep. Something burned low in Eddie’s gut upon hearing Richie’s morning voice. 

“I’m going to brush my teeth. How’s your face feel?” Eddie asked, clambering over Richie awkwardly, leaning down to press his lips to Richie’s cheek.

“Awful, but I can kinda see out of this eye now,” Richie murmured, sitting up and following Eddie to the washroom. Eddie looked around the room, make sure he had grabbed everything he needed, apart from his toothbrush and toothpaste. Richie grabbed the toothpaste, squirting some onto his finger and rubbing it over his teeth. Eddie rolled his eyes at him. Richie gave him a bubbly smile back. 

It only took them ten minutes to get dressed and ready to leave. Richie grabbed Eddie’s bags, hoisting them out the window and onto the roof. They had decided to make their escape out the window because the front door would definitely wake Eddie’s mom up. Eddie stood in the middle of his room, running through a mental checklist of every belonging he’d ever had. 

“Ready,  _ Eduardo _ ?” Richie cooed, sitting on the window sill. Eddie nodded, staring at his desk. He considered writing a note for his mom, but there would be nothing to say that would comfort her. 

“After you,  _ Ricardo _ ,” Eddie said, gesturing for Richie to climb out the window. He took a deep breath and followed Richie out the window without looking back. He figured if he looked back, he might just have an anxiety attack. 

The pair climbed down from the roof, trudging silently across the lawn. Eddie could feel his heart rate start to pick up, but he kept telling himself that it was  _ excitement _ . He was just  _ excited _ that he and Richie were running away together. 

They put Eddie’s bags in the trunk once they reached the car, and Richie started to walk around to the driver’s side. Eddie grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “You can barely see out of that eye, I’ll drive for now.”

“Eds, I can drive.”

“Don’t call me that. Give me the keys,” Eddie argued, holding his other hand out for Richie. Richie sighed and handed the keys to Eddie. Richie hopped in the passenger side, and Eddie got in the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors. 

“Mommy’s gonna be on our asses in six minutes, we don’t have time for your fucking mirrors,” Richie quipped, searching through his mixtapes that he stored in the glove compartment. Eddie glanced at the clock. 5:54. They needed to go. 

He hit the gas harder than needed and took off down the road. Eddie tried to focus on driving, not looking at the passing houses that he would surely never see again. Richie finally found a tape and put it in the player, smiling to himself as the music began to fill the car. 

They were halfway across the kissing bridge when Richie asked Eddie to pull over. Eddie listened without question, figuring Richie needed to take a piss. Richie hopped out, and then ran around, opening Eddie’s door for him. “Come here.”

Eddie followed him to the other side of the bridge. Richie ran his hand along one of the wooden beams, stopping once he found an empty area. He crouched down and pulled out his pocket knife, the one Bev had given to him for his birthday a few years ago. Eddie crouched beside him, watching as he carefully carved an R and a +, before handing the blade to Eddie. 

“Vandalizing the place on our way out?” Eddie teased, taking the blade and starting off the letter E. He wanted it to look just as perfect as the letter Richie had done.

“One final ‘fuck you’ to this homophobic piece of shit,” Richie said, gesturing over his shoulder at Derry. Once Eddie was finished, the two stepped back, admiring their handiwork. Distantly, Eddie could hear sirens. “That’s our cue to leave.”

The boys climbed back into the car, Eddie still at the wheel. Richie leaned over, grabbing Eddie’s face with both hands and forcing him to make eye contact (not that Eddie minded). “I’m so happy right now,” Richie told him, his smile wider than Eddie had seen it in years. 

“Me too,” Eddie told him, and then Richie was kissing him again. It was a fast kiss, but it held so much promise and hope that Eddie could still feel it tingling on his lips as they drove out of Derry forever. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Here's chapter two, hope you all like it!

Richie stepped off the stage, shaking more than he would have liked to admit. His hand closed around a glass of bourbon that someone’s shoved at him. The ice clinked on the side of the glass as he raised it to his mouth with a shaking hand. His manager stood in front of him, grabbing his shoulders, saying something that he couldn’t even hear, his brain flashing with memories of a life he’d forgotten. 

“Richie!” His manager shouted, pushing him down into a chair. “What happened out there?” Richie slammed his eyes shut, trying to push away the sinking feeling of forgetting his jokes. “Are you alright?” Richie shook his head and pushed the glass of alcohol back at his manager. 

“I’m going to be sick,” Richie muttered. A bucket was pushed into his lap, what was left of his stomach contents hitting the bottom instantly. 

“How much did you drink last night?” His manager berated, his grip tight on Richie’s shoulder. Richie opened his eyes and scowled.

“Nothing,” he told him honestly. He took his glasses off, setting them down on the arm of the chair he was sitting on and wiped his eyes. The room, now blurry, spun around him, the lamp in front of him with its three bulbs drew his eyes. The three lights spun causing fear to gnaw at his stomach until he was throwing up again.

“Jesus, do you need me to call an ambulance?” Richie shook his head, sitting back and staring at the ceiling, trying to collect his thoughts. 

“No,” he whispered, sliding his glasses back on his face. “I- I need my phone.” He held his hand out, someone dropping his phone there almost instantly. “Can I- I need to make a call.” 

The room started clearing out, but his manager didn’t move. “You shouldn’t be alone, what if you pass out?”

“I’m not dizzy,” Richie lied, placing the bucket of puke on the floor. “It’s a private matter.” 

Once his manager left the room, Richie hit speed dial and closed his eyes, his stomach still churning harshly. 

“Hey Rich,” Eddie’s voice was quiet, a little shaky. “How was the show?”

“Terrible,” Richie told him, wishing Eddie was back in LA with him, rather than on a business trip in New York. “I forgot half my jokes.”

“I- I crashed the rental car,” Eddie whispered. Richie could picture him running his hand over his face, pinching the sides of his mouth. 

“Are you-”

“Fine, I’m fine. I ran a red,” Eddie admitted. “I- I was distracted. On the phone.” Richie’s stomach dropped. If Eddie had got a call too, it had to be real. 

“Mike?” Eddie’s silence was enough of a confirmation. “What’s the call?”

“What do you mean, what’s the call?” Eddie asked, voice raising to a normal volume. “We don’t really have a choice here, Richie.”

“We could run away again,” Richie whispered, raking his fingers through his hair. “I’ll take you somewhere no one will ever find us.” Eddie was quiet again, but Richie knew he wasn’t considering his proposition. Not again. 

“I  _ finally  _ remember how we met,” Eddie said into the silence. Richie closed his eyes, trying to find the memory for himself. He couldn’t. “It was first grade. You were covered in dirt, and I thought you were disgusting, but I was fascinated by you.” The memory slowly started to form in Richie’s head of a small, brown-haired boy in yellow short-shorts laughing behind his hand. 

“Oh yeah,” Richie smiled. “I told the teacher to ‘fuck off’, do you remember that?” 

Eddie burst out laughing. “Oh yeah! I went home and said that to my mom.”

“I’m sure she took that well,” Richie laughed, rolling his eyes. Memories began to settle in his mind, no longer hurtling at the speed of light. He let each one sink in, most of them filled with a younger Eddie laughing or yelling at him.

“I remember the moment I realised I had a crush on you,” Richie said, laughing at the thought. “I was sitting in- in a hammock, I think. And you were yelling at me about spending too much time in it and got right up in my face. I remember wanting to kiss you.”

“I remember how freeing it felt running away from that fucking town,” Eddie said, the joy in his voice fading slightly. “We should go back. If nothing else, we can get some of our memories back.”

“Great,” Richie said. “I can’t wait to remember what it was like to make sweet, sweet love to your mother-”

“I’ll book the flights,” Eddie interrupted. “I need to go, my meeting is in five.”

“But Eds, don’t you want to hear how your mom and I-”

“Goodbye, asshole.”

“Love you, see you soon, dipshit.”

“I love you too, Chee.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On their way into town, Richie drove them across the kissing bridge. He slowed down as he crossed it, just enough to make sure their initials were still carved into the wood. “Aren’t you a romantic,” Eddie mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He’d fallen asleep as soon as they’d gotten into the rental car, waking up just outside Derry. 

“It was our last stop before we left this fucking place,” Richie shrugged. Eddie smiled at him, grabbing his hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel. “Sue me for feeling a little nostalgic.”

They checked into the inn before heading to the restaurant. When Eddie pulled the car up to the parking lot, neither of them moved. “Ready, Spaghetti?” Richie asked, eyes on the floor. Eddie reached over, grabbing his hand, not saying a word. “This town makes me feel like I’m about to die.”

“Wow, way to lighten the mood, fuckface,” Eddie groaned, letting go of Richie’s hand and throwing the door open. Richie took a deep breath before following his lead. 

The waitress led them to a secluded area of the restaurant, listening to Eddie rattle off his thousands of allergies. Richie had been working with him, focusing on sharing only the allergies that were  _ actually _ allergies, and not something that wasn’t healthy, or he didn’t like. Progress was slow, but he didn’t mention gluten or shrimp to the waitress, so Richie counted that as a win.

They were the last two to get there, unsurprisingly. Richie looked around the room, memories rushing into his brain again. Richie took the empty seat next to Stan, while Eddie sat next to-  _ Ben _ ?

“Holy fuck, you got hot,” Richie blurted out at Ben before his brain could even catch up to his mouth.

“And you got famous,” Ben laughed, shoving his napkin towards Richie. “Will you sign this for me, oh great one?”

“Fuck off, he’s not that special,” Eddie groaned, shaking his head. Ben set the napkin down with a wink, and the others burst into laughter. “Besides, Bill’s not doing bad for himself with his books.”

“Oh yeah, we went and saw your last film, it was really good,” Stan told Bill, lifting his eyes from the menu.

“We? Guh-got yourself a special lady fr-friend?” Bill teased, tapping his own wedding ring. 

“Yeah, Patricia. We’ve been married for twelve years now,” Stan explained. They went around the circle, talking about their own lives, stopping before Eddie as the food arrived. The waitress also brought a round of shots for everyone, which Richie accepted gladly. They filled their plates without much conversation, but the silence didn’t last long. 

“So, are we getting a fucking explanation from you two, or what?” Ben said suddenly, gesturing across the table at Richie and Eddie. Richie’s heart clenched and he felt his eyes going wide. 

“Ah-about wuh-what?” Bill asked, looking at Bev with his eyebrows raised. Bev looked just as confused. 

“You two had already left when these two decided to fake their own deaths and disappear off the face of the Earth,” Stan told them, shoving his thumb at Richie accusingly. 

“I didn’t fake my own death!” Eddie protested. Richie’s stomach twisted, memories of that night coming back. “I just- I just fucking left man. Did you actually think we died?”

“Well, what the fuck was I supposed to think after the letter Richie left?” Stan asked, his voice rising several octaves. 

“What letter?” Eddie asked, turning on Richie. Richie swallowed, mouth gaping open like a fish as he tried to find the words. 

“Richie left a suicide note for his parents,” Ben explained. 

“Why would you leave a suicide note?” Eddie asked, his own voice rising like Stan’s had.

“Because I was planning to kill myself, asshole,” Richie snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest. It was Eddie’s turn to gape at him. “We left town together,” Richie explained, looking anywhere but Eddie. “Moved out to LA.”

“Wait,” Bev interrupted, pointing at Eddie this time. “You didn’t leave any sort of note? You were just gone?” 

“Uh- yes?” 

“Eddie’s mother had most of the town convinced Richie here pulled a murder-suicide and drove them both off the side of a cliff. Richie’s car was the missing puzzle piece,” Ben murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What did you guys think happened?” Eddie asked quietly, pushing his food around his plate. 

“I thought the two of you fucked off somewhere,” Stan said, shrugging. There was a dark look on his face like he wasn’t entirely telling the truth. 

“We all did, but you never wrote. We didn’t think Richie murdered you. Thought maybe you off’d yourselves together,” Ben told them.

“Well, isn’t that romantic,” Richie muttered, running his hand through his hair. 

“Imagine my surprise when I was watching SNL and your dead ass walked onto the screen,” Mike groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You two sure caused a fucking scene. Most of the stories now say that you were lovers who couldn’t stand the hate in Derry and killed yourselves.” 

“Now that’s romantic,” Eddie laughed, beckoning the waitress over and asking for another round of shots. “Surprise, we’re alive, we’re fine!”

“So wait, did you two remember everything?” Bev asked.

“No, I called both of you at separate times, and neither of you had any idea. You also didn’t mention each other,” Mike pointed out, looking confused. 

“So what, you guys moved to LA and got so tired of each other you stopped talking until you forgot each other?” Stan asked, rolling his eyes. “Here I was thinking you two got married or something.”

“You’re pretty smart there, Stan the Man,” Richie said, elbowing him in the side. 

“I would have put my money on me getting tired of him, to be honest,” Eddie grumbled, shoving rice into his mouth. 

“But alas,” Richie cooed, reaching forward and plucking a piece of chicken off Eddie’s plate. “You’re a married man.”

“Wuh-wait.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No fucking way!”

“I fucking told all of you,” Stan yelled, leaning forward. “What did I say before they got here, huh?”

“You said they were probably boning back at the hotel,” Ben said, taking a sip of water. “I figured it was reunion sex, but Stan over here figured you somehow managed to domesticate this man,” he said, pointing to Richie.

“Hey man, not cool!”

“It was a struggle,” Eddie agreed, sticking out his arm to block the elbow to his side that Richie had been preparing. 

“So when did you two like... get together?” 

“Ooooh, want the dirty details, Mikey? It was the night we left Derry,” Richie explained, carefully trying to remove a soup dumpling from the basket, and place it on his spoon. Unsurprisingly, it broke as he lifted it. “Fuck me.” 

“ _ That _ definitely did not happen that night,” Eddie said with a laugh, leaning over and lifting his own soup dumpling without breaking it at all. “The love confessions happened that night, and then we got married in 2005. Dirty details happened all throughout.”

“I thought it wasn’t legalized until only a few years ago,” Bev said.

“Turns out you can get married on a couple visitor visas in Canada, so we did it in Toronto,” Richie explained. “But yes, it was not  _ legally  _ recognized until 2013 back home.” 

“You ran to Canada to get married?” Stan said, suddenly laughing. Richie glared at him, and Eddie leaned forward to get a better look.

“Why’s that so fucking funny, dickwad?” 

“It’s just-” Stan wiped at his eyes. “I’m surprised Richie actually had the balls to do

that.”

“ _ Stanley _ !” Richie gasped, putting his hand over his heart. “You have the  _ audacity  _ to believe I wouldn’t marry-”

“No,  _ no _ ,” Stand shook his head, putting his hand on Richie’s wrist. “I just remember you laying on my bed and telling me if Eddie ever loved you back you’d run away with him, and I quote “get married in Canada or some shit” because they would probably legalize it first.” 

Everyone else laughed at this, including Eddie, but Richie felt his cheeks heat up. “You have betrayed my trust, Stanley Uris! Here I was thinking I was pouring my heart out to you in secret!” 

“I’m so happy for you,” Stan said, still laughing and holding Richie’s wrist. Richie smiled at this, and Stan pulled him into a hug. When he was close to Richie’s ear he whispered “I fucking told you he liked you back, but  _ noooo _ , why would you listen to me?”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mike’s out of his mind, don’t you think?” Richie asked, rummaging through his duffle bag. 

“You were planning to kill yourself?” Eddie asked quietly from the bed. He was sitting up, the blanket pulled up to his waist, hands folded neatly on top. 

“I mean- yeah,” Richie shrugged, pulling out the pyjama shirt he’d packed. It was an old tour shirt with some very questionable stains. He slipped it over his head and zipped his bag back up. Eddie was silent the whole time. “What? You saw the state of me that night.”

“If I had said no, would you have done it?” Eddie’s voice was shaking, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Richie couldn’t lie to him. 

“That was my plan, yeah.”

“So if I said no, and woke up the next day to you gone and a note saying you were going to kill yourself, I was just supposed to move on and not think I could have prevented it?” Eddie was talking fast now, his hands moving around his face as he spoke. 

“I- yeah. I don’t know Eds, I wasn’t really thinking anything through,” Richie whispered, grabbing Eddie’s wrists and bringing them down. “It was almost twenty years ago, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Doesn’t matter? Are you-”

“What’s  _ important _ ,” Richie interrupted, swinging his leg over Eddie so he was sitting on his lap. “Is that I  _ didn’t  _ do it, I’m  _ glad _ I didn’t do it, and I have the most wonderful husband in the world.”

“I just- are you okay?” Eddie asked, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Damn it, Eddie. I’m fine. Look at my life dude, it’s fucking perfect. Everything I could ever want.” Eddie nodded at this but didn’t say anything. “Come on man, you had to know I was out of my fucking mind back then.” 

“You’re still out of your fucking mind,” Eddie told him with a wet laugh. “I knew it was bad,” he admitted. “Obviously. Don’t you remember that time I walked in on you with the razor in your hand?”

“Of course I remember that,” Richie shook his head, dropping Eddie’s wrists finally and rubbing his own hands over Eddie’s shoulders. 

“I probably should have gotten you help or something,” Eddie told him, caressing the side of his face. “Could have had some peace and quiet for once in my life.” 

“Sorry, you’re out of luck, Spaghetti.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Richie had just walked through the door, a trail of black slime on the floor in front of him. Bill pushed past him harshly, sending him flying into the wall. “Oh yeah, don’t mind me,” Richie muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. “I’ve just been tormented by a psycho-killer clown!” Bill ignored him, running out the door without so much as a second glance. Beverly was standing at the foot of the stairs, staring after Bill with wide eyes. “What’s his issue?” 

“It’s going after that kid,” Bev explained, crossing her arms. 

“And he’s planning to what?” Ben asked, raising his eyebrows. He was half-way up the stairs, so Richie assumed he’d also missed what happened. 

“Kidnap a child?” Richie suggested. 

“Honestly, I’m not sure if that would help,” Bev said shaking her head. A heavy 

silence fell over them, and Richie let his mouth run to try and fix the suffocating feeling. 

“Well, I for one am not going after him. We’re getting out of here, there’s no fucking way I’m dealing with that thing. Getting the stupid fucking token was bad enough, I’m not-”

“Guys!” Eddie’s terrified voice interrupted Richie’s blabbering. Richie was running up the stairs before Ben even had time to turn around. 

Richie rounded the corner just as Eddie slid out of their room, his back against the wall, eyes wide. There was blood dripping from his cheek and mouth, running down his neck and soaking his shirt. Bev screamed behind him. “Eddie?” Richie’s voice cracked as Eddie stumbled, crouching down on the top step. Reddie dropped beside him, pulling his over-shirt off. 

“Bowers is in our room,” Eddie said, his voice surprisingly casual. Blood poured out of Eddie’s mouth when he spoke, falling on his lap. Ben ran past them, slamming the door open. Richie pressed his shirt to Eddie’s cheek, staring wide-eyed. His heart was pounding, tears springing to his eyes. “Is it bad?” 

“You’ve got a hole in your face, babe,” Richie told him, trying to clean some of the blood away from Eddie’s mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s not great.”

“He stabbed me,” Eddie said as if just realising what was happening. “I stabbed him back though.” 

“Did you kill him?” 

“No,” Ben said, reappearing with towels and Eddie’s portable first aid kit. “He pulled the knife out of his chest and hopped in a car.” 

“Fucking psycho,” Eddie muttered, wincing as Richie peeled his shirt away, pressing a wet cloth to the wound instead. “Did you even wash your hands?” 

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Richie asked, knowing full well that was what Eddie was worried about at  _ all _ times. 

“You’re sticking your dirty hands inside my face, Rich, I think that’s a perfectly reasonable worry!” Richie rolled his eyes, grabbing the bottle of disinfectant and pouring it on his fingers, before raising it to Eddie’s face.

“Ready?” He asked, grabbing the other side of Eddie’s face so he couldn’t move away. Eddie nodded, closing his eyes. Richie leaned forward, pressing a small kiss to Eddie’s nose. Eddie started to smile, but it quickly faded as Richie poured the disinfectant over the cut. 

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” Eddie hissed, his eyes going wide. Richie felt him try to turn away and tightened the grip on his face. 

“Later,” Richie mumbled, finally setting the bottle down. He grimaced at the number of bubbles forming around Eddie’s wound, the bacteria slowing dying. 

“Tastes awful,” Eddie told him, grabbing a clean towel and trying to wipe the taste off his tongue. “I don’t think you’re supposed to put this stuff in your mouth.”

“It’s that or the germs, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, glaring at Richie. Richie rolled his eyes again, before patching Eddie’s cheek up. 

“You’re okay?” Richie asked once the pair were back in their room, changing out of their bloody shirts. 

“I got stabbed in the face, Chee,” Eddie said quietly, rummaging through his suitcase. “I also got puked on by a leper, so that’s  _ fucking neat _ .”

“Yeah It basically tormented me on the whole gay thing again,” Richie admitted, his voice shaking. “Well... that and just you in general. He knows you’re my weakness, Eddie.”

“Did the whole ‘gay thing’ get worse once you got back here?” Eddie asked. Richie nodded, not wanting to admit it hadn’t really ever gone away. As much as he loved Eddie, and loved being with him, it still terrified him. Honestly, it was probably the industry, being gay in Hollywood, even in 2016, was a bad career move. His last manager had dropped him after Richie suggested coming out, something he’d worked up to asking for  _ months _ , and he hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask the new one yet. 

“The fucking clown said he’d kill you, and then I get back here, and Bowers stabbed you in the fucking face, man,” Richie sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’m fucking terrified.”

There was a knock on the door. “We need to meet Mike at the library!” Ben called. Richie sighed, throwing a new shirt on and leading the way out, Eddie following right behind him. 

When they got to the library, they found Mike heaving himself off the floor, his arm bleeding, and Stan standing off to the side, face white as a sheet. Bowers lay in the middle of the floor, an ice pick sticking out the back of his skull. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie said, staring wide-eyed at Bowers’ body. 

“Are you okay?” Ben asked, stepping towards Mike.

“No, I’m not fucking okay!” Stan quipped from the side of the room, pushing himself up against the wall as if trying to get as far away from Bowers as possible. “I just fucking killed him. What the fuck!”

“Damn,” Richie said, walking over to Stan. He pulled him into a hug, Stan’s body shaking. “You’re such a badass.”

“I’m going to go to jail, Richie. Now’s not the time for an ego boost!” 

“You’re not going to jail,” Bev told him. “It was self-defense.” Stan went to protest, but Richie held him tighter. Stan let his head drop to Richie’s shoulder, muttering something about the legal system. 

As soon as Bill’s phone call came through Mike’s phone, Richie’s world descended into chaos, not giving him a chance to catch his breath before he was following Eddie through the front door of Neibolt. 

He glanced to his left, a piece of paper floating down and getting stuck in one of the spider webs. Richie didn’t have to go closer to know it was his missing poster again. Eddie watched it fall too, his fingers on Richie’s wrist. “It’s not real.”

“I know,” Richie whispered, following Bill. This time, Richie knew it wasn’t real, the missing poster at least, but he was no less afraid than he was the first time he’d come into the house. The pair followed Bill into the kitchen, where the table lay exactly how it had been 27 years ago when Eddie fell on it. 

Eddie eyed the fridge, taking a step closer to Richie. “I hate this room,” he whispered. Richie was just about to suggest them leaving when the door slammed closed behind them. “What the fuck!” 

“Hey!” Richie turned around, pulling at the doorknob. He could hear the others screaming on the other side, but it didn’t sound like they were screaming for them. A rattling noise came from the fridge, and Richie heard Eddie gasp. 

“No no no,” Eddie muttered, clinging to Richie’s arm and walking backwards, eyes never leaving the fridge. Richie could hear his breath speeding up, a telltale sign of one of Eddie’s panic attacks. Despite the fact that most of Eddie’s diseases, disorders, and allergies were fake, the anxiety and panic attacks were not, they were  _ very  _ real, and  _ very  _ scary. “ _ Please, no _ .” 

The fridge door flew open to reveal a twisted body. Richie’s heart sank as he realised it was the boy who had handed him the flyer for his own funeral earlier at the park. “Oh God,” Bill muttered, sliding back along a counter. “That’s the Adrian kid who got killed last week.” 

_ Oh _ , Richie’s stomach churned,  _ the gay one. This is for me. Okay.  _ Adrian began to shake, his eyes flying open. Richie could feel Eddie’s grasp tightening even further, hear his unsteady breathing, but he couldn’t move. Adrian’s mouth opened and he began to laugh, loud and vicious, until his head detached from his body and rolled across the kitchen floor. 

“FUCK!” Bill yelled, throwing himself onto the counter. Richie stumbled backwards until he was pressed up against Eddie, who was pressed against the wall. The head sat in the middle of the floor, smiling at them.

“ _ Hello, Richie,” _ It snarled, making eye contact with him. Richie wanted to throw up. “ _ Nice boyfriend you got there. _ ” Eddie whimpered behind him, his face pressed into Richie’s shoulder. Adrian’s head began to shake, the laughter starting up again, as thin little legs shot out the side of the skull. “ _ Shame if anything were to happen to him. _ ”

And then it was running towards them. Richie’s foot made contact with its mouth, and it was flying across the room towards Bill. He tore himself away from Eddie, running after it. Bill swung a broom at it, hitting it through a window. Richie and Bill through the window into the next room, trying to find it.

“Where’d it go?” Richie asked, heart pounding.

“Probably to find the others,” Bill said, pulling away from the window. “You good Eddie?” Richie turned to see that Eddie had backed himself into a corner, eyes wide, taking gulping breaths. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Richie walked over to Eddie, whose eyes were fixed at a spot behind Richie’s head. “You’re okay. I’m right-”

A trail of slime hung between them, swinging back and forth. Richie followed the trail up to the roof with his eyes, where Adrian’s face grimaced back at him. “Found it.”

Suddenly Richie was on the ground, the thin, but immensely strong legs wrapped around his head, Adrian’s face only a few inches away. “GET IT OFF!” He shouted, desperately trying to push it away. It wouldn’t budge. 

“ _ Pucker up, gayboy,”  _ It said, chomping its mouth like it was trying to bite his nose off. 

“BILL! OFF! GET IT OFF!” Bill was straddling his waist, pulling at the head. It only held tighter. “FUCK! HELP!” He could vaguely hear Bill shouting something about a knife, but he was too focused on not losing his nose and becoming Voldemort to give a fuck. 

There was another set of hands on the head, and Richie felt the tension finally lessen. A squelching noise sounded out in the room, and all the yelling stopped. Richie looked at Adrian’s eyes, which rolled to the side, not looking at anything. The squelching sound happened again, and again until the tension in the legs left. Richie pushed the head off him as hard as he could, gasping for air. 

He let his head fall back, landing on something soft. He opened his eyes, a blurry face above him. “My glasses,” he gasped, his arms flailing around his head. Someone pushed them onto his face, and Richie discovered it was Stan’s lap his head was laying on. Stan was panting harshly, tears collecting in his eyes. “I’m okay, Stanny.” 

Richie reached up and awkwardly tried to wipe away a tear that had spilt over. “Thought I was going to lose you for a second, Trashmouth.” 

“You’re not that lucky,” Richie teased. Stan opened his mouth to say something, but Bill was suddenly yelling again. 

“What the FUCK Eddie!” Richie looked over to see Bill pushing Eddie up against the wall. “He could have DIED! Do you want him to die? Huh?” Eddie was gulping in air, his eyes darting all over the room. “Are you even listening to me?” Bill shouted, shoving Eddie. 

Richie pulled himself up and staggered across the room. He grabbed Bill by the shoulder, pulling him back with much more force than he needed. “He’s having a panic attack, asshole.” Richie stepped in front of Eddie, blocking the rest of the room from view. He grabbed Eddie’s hands, which were balled together under his chin, and held them against his chest, breathing deeply. 

“Breathe with me, baby,” He whispered, letting his forehead rest against Eddie’s. “You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Eddie’s eyes fell closed, but his breathing didn’t slow. “Shh, Eddie, we’re okay.” 

Eddie flattened his hands against Richie’s chest, trying to match his own breathing to the pattern Richie was setting out. Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie, pulling him flush against him, and rocked them softly. He lowered his mouth to Eddie’s ear and began singing softly. “ _ Eddie, my love...” _

Eddie calmed down before Richie had even finished the song, sniffling quietly into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, only loud enough for Richie to hear. “I couldn’t move.” 

“Hey,” Richie whispered back, pulling away enough to take Eddie’s face into his hands and look him in the eye. “Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you. That was  _ terrifying _ , you did nothing wrong, okay?” 

“I couldn’t save you,” Eddie whispered, wiping some of the tears from his cheeks. “I didn’t even try.”

“You were a little preoccupied,” Richie reminded him with a weak laugh. “Panic attack and all.” 

Eddie cracked a smile at this, letting out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s a little time consuming, hey?” 

“A tad, yeah,” Richie agreed, letting his hands drop before turning back to the others. “Onwards!” 

Ben nodded, walking off towards the basement, Mike and Bev right behind him. “Shit, I’m sorry Eddie,” Bill said, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. 

“All good man, I was pretty usele-” Richie elbowed him in the side, raising his eyes. They’d been working so hard on getting rid of the guilt from the panic attacks, and Richie was not about to let Bill ruin that for Eddie. “It’s okay. Really. It was scary for everyone.” 

Richie took a step back, accidentally bumping into Stan, who still looked scared. “You good, Stanley?”

“Yeah,” Stan whispered, gesturing towards the door as Bill started to follow the others down the stairs. “I’m surprisingly scared to lose you again.”

“ _ Awww _ , Stan, you didn’t lose me, you just forgot me,” Richie countered, following behind Eddie and Bill. Stan grabbed his shoulder just as he began to walk down the stairs. 

“No, Richie. Because until you walked into that restaurant my brain refused to believe you were actually alive. I was in Derry for  _ years _ after you left. I’ve already had to deal with your death and I  _ don’t  _ want to go through that again.” 

Richie felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, like the ones that usually hit him in the middle of the night when he was crouched on the bathroom floor, hiding away from Eddie, during his worst mental breakdowns. “Stan-” 

“I don’t want an apology, Richie. I want you to promise me you’re not going to leave me again. And then I want a  _ fucking explanation _ once we’re out of here. Got it?” Richie nodded, ignoring the tears that had fallen down Stan’s cheeks again. Stan pushed past him and stormed down the stairs, wiping his face before they got to the others. Richie followed quietly, the guilt continuing to gnaw away at him. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The balloon was expanding, pushing them all out of the way. Richie was losing sight of Eddie over the top of the balloon, and he called out for him. He stumbled out of the way, gripping Bill’s arm. He could hear the others yelling out for each other, Eddie’s voice somewhere amongst the screams. 

He ran towards the edge of the room, looking for an escape, when the balloon popped, throwing him through the air. He hit the ground hard, his ears ringing. He allowed himself a second to breathe before he was scrambling to his feet, grabbing Bill and running towards the others. 

He’d just reached them, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s, when the  _ fucking  _ clown stuck it’s head out. “Why the fuck didn’t it work Mike?” Richie yelled, pulling Eddie back from Pennywise. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike said, looking back at them. “If you knew you wouldn’t have agreed.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, idiot?” Eddie yelled. Mike shook his head, and Pennywise walked out, appearing as half-clown, half-spider. “ _ Are you shitting me? _ ” Everyone backed up except for Mike, who turned to face It. 

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Stan yelled, running forward as Pennywise raised its spider claws. “We’re not dying for this fucking ritual.” He shoved Mike to the floor, a claw smashing into the floor where he’d been only a second later. 

“What the fuck?” Ben yelled as It started to cackle. 

Stan heaved Mike to his feet and the pair started running towards the rest of the 

group. “Ah, shit,” Richie muttered, breaking into a sprint and pulling Eddie along with him. “Shit, shit, shit. Fucking SHIT, Mike!” 

He dove to his right, scrambling up a rock pile, Eddie hot on his heels. The others kept running, breaking off and hiding in different areas. Ben and Bev ran into a cave, while Bill fell into a pool of water. Richie had no idea where Stan or Mike were. 

Pennywise whirled around, his eyes settling on Richie and Eddie. They both 

screamed, and Richie pushed Eddie down the hallway beside them. “Go, go, g _ o _ .”

“What the fuck!” Eddie yelled, turning to look over their shoulders. “Jesus fuck, run!” Richie chanced a glance over his shoulder, finding a weird-looking tentacle following them down the hall. 

“What is that?” Richie yelled, nearly crashing into Eddie as he came to a halt. “Keep going dipshit! I don’t want to die by tentacle. Not one of my kinks!” He looked over Eddie’s shoulders to see the three doors in front of them. “Nope. Fuck that shit.”

“Not scary at all, right?” Eddie said, walking towards the door. Richie grabbed him by the arm, stopping him before he could grab the handle. 

“No, no he’s messing with us,” Richie panted, looking behind them to see the tentacle was still trying to reach for them. “Try very scary.”

They walked to the door, quickly pulling it open. It was a closet. A  _ fucking closet _ . Richie would have laughed if he wasn’t being chased by a murder tentacle. He reached forward, turning on the light. Adrian’s face appeared again, this time attached to his body. “ _ Hello, Richie! _ ”

“Nope, fuck that,” Richie yelled, slamming the door. “Fine, try not scary at all.” They moved to the other door quickly, a long hallway appearing in front of them. In front of them stood the boy from the restaurant, the one Bill had tried to save. 

“ _ The fun’s just beginning, _ ” the kid smiled, taking a step towards Richie and Eddie. He moved stiffly, almost like a zombie. The door slammed before he could move much further. Eddie rested his head on the door, his fist clenched on the handle. 

“We are not opening that third door,” he panted. “It’s going to be a fucking leper, I swear.” Richie turned to look at the tentacle, only to find it had left. 

“Eddie,” Richie whispered, staring down the hall leading back to the others. Eddie followed his gaze but didn’t move. “Shit, man. I’m scared.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Eddie muttered, barely loud enough for Richie to hear. “We’re fine, Chee.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Richie mumbled, turning back to face Eddie. He wiped some of the dirt off his face, watching as his finger drew a path through the gunk. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

“Richie, honey,” Eddie stood on his tip-toes, pressing a kiss to Richie’s forehead. “You won’t lose me. We’re going to make it out of here.” Richie nodded, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s lips on his way back down. “Let’s go, love.” 

They took off running down the hall again, the other’s yells getting louder as they got closer. Richie pressed forward, stopping dead when they emerged from the tunnel. 

Stan was caught in the deadlights, floating ten feet above the ground. Richie looked around, grabbing a rock from the ground and hurling it at Pennywise. “You’re a sloppy bitch!” The rock made contact with It’s eye, and It dropped Stan, rounding on Richie. “ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Stan!” Eddie ran to Stan, who laid on the ground, looking like a deadman. Richie went to run towards the pair, when one of Pennywise’s tentacles wrapped around him, lifting him off his feet and dangling him in the air. “Rich!”

Richie screamed, smacking the tentacle uselessly. “Put me down! Put me down, you motherfucker!” He could hear the others yelling below him, but he was being shaken back and forth too fast to see anything. 

The movement stopped, there was a bright light, and then Richie’s brain turned off. 

_ Stan was sitting naked in the bathtub in front of Richie. He hadn’t noticed Richie, which was probably a good thing, because he would definitely start screaming when he did. Stan’s eyes were closed, but he was fiddling with something under the water.  _

_ He lifted his hand a small razor blade sitting in his palm. Stan picked it up, tracing over the scar on his hand, the one that matched Richie’s. Richie tried to step forward, but he couldn’t move.  _

_ Stan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He ran the razor down one of his arms, drawing blood. Richie tried to call out to stop him, tried to reach for him, but it was like he was watching it in a movie. He watched helplessly as Stan ran the blade down his other arm. _

_ Richie desperately wanted to call for help. He stood there helplessly as Stan passed out, blood dripping onto the floor. It felt like an eternity had passed before a woman, presumably Stan’s wife, burst through the door. Richie felt himself start screaming at the same time she did.  _

He felt himself fly through the air and blinked to try and get his vision back. He was hurtling towards a very large, very sharp rock. Before he could do anything, his body was jerked the other way, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He yelled out, unsure if the sound had been an actual word or not, and then the bright light was in front of him again.

_ Ben was sitting in a nursery, beside a tiny crib. Richie peered inside to see a tiny, too pale baby. The infant’s chest wasn’t moving, and Ben was sobbing. Richie wanted to reach out, wanted to wrap Ben in his arms and tell him it was going to be okay.  _

_ A nurse walked into the room and placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I am so sorry, Mr. Hanscom. You can come see her now.” Ben stood shakily and followed the nurse out the door. Richie was dragged along, through the halls of the hospital.  _

_ They entered a small room with a single bed, where Bev lay, her eyes closed. Richie would have thought she was sleeping, had it not been for the gut-wrenching sob that left Ben’s lips.  _

_ Richie wanted to throw up.  _

He was free-falling this time, tumbling through the air. He opened his eyes to see the cave spinning around him, Pennywise’s colours blurring together. The ground came closer and closer and then he stopped, the tentacle wrapped around him again, hovering a foot from the ground. He let out a relieved sigh, looking up to meet Eddie’s pained gaze. “I’m oka-” He was torn away again, the bright lights closer than expected. 

_ He was in the cave, Eddie looming over him, his head swimming. “I think I did it, Richie!” Eddie yelled, smiling above him. Richie smiled, wanting to kiss Eddie. “I think I killed him!”  _

_ It swung one of the spider claws around, and Richie watched helplessly, unable to move, unable to say anything, as the claw plunged through Eddie’s chest. Blood was everywhere, Richie’s glasses, dripping from Eddie’s mouth, it was hot and wet and nauseating. “Richie?”  _

_ He watched as Eddie was pulled into the air, dangled above him. There was so much blood. It flew everywhere as It tossed Eddie around. It threw Eddie off to the side, his body falling through a cave like a ragdoll. _

_ Richie still couldn’t move.  _

“Why are you crying, Eddie?” It taunted. Richie opened his eyes slowly this time, finding himself upside down in front of a crying Eddie. He didn’t appear to be having a panic attack but he looked furious. 

“Stop hurting him,” Eddie ordered, his voice stronger and more demanding than Richie would have expected. Pennywise laughed, and then the tentacle was tightening around Richie, squeezing him far to tight. Richie cried out in pain, trying to get some wiggle room.

“You mean like this?” It laughed, shaking Richie slightly as the tentacle continued to tighten.

“Stop!” Eddie shouted, running forward and pulling at the tentacle. Richie gasped as it continued to tighten, a crunching sound coming from his chest. “Stop, please!” 

“Have it your way, Eddie-bear,” It said. Richie felt his body being flung across the room, his limbs flying uselessly by his side. A sharp pain hit the side of his head, and his brain shut off again. 

It felt like only a second later he was blinking his eyes open, Eddie looming into view. “Richie? Oh my God. Hi. You’re okay, I’m here.” Richie blinked again, something warm trickling into the corner of his eye. Eddie brushed it away. Richie reached up, brushing the tears off Eddie’s face, before looking over Eddie’s shoulder. The other Losers were yelling at Pennywise, who was backing itself into the center of the room. Stan stood halfway between them and the others, glancing back and forth frantically. 

“I need to get in on that action,” Richie muttered, using Eddie and a rock to pull himself to his feet. Stan stared back at him with wide eyes, only running (more like hobbling) to meet the others once Richie gave him a nod to say he was okay. 

Despite the dizziness, Richie managed to get to the center of the room to join the others without relying on Eddie to get him there. They all seemed to be bullying It to death, which seemed weird, but Richie wasn’t going to question it at this point. Richie looked around at the group. Bill was soaking wet, Ben was covered in dirt, Bev in blood, Mike looked like he’d seen a ghost (it was  _ only _ an alien-murder-clown), and Stan was holding his arm at an awkward angle, leaning on a rock and avoiding putting weight on one of his legs. There was blood dripping from his nose and the corner of his eye. 

One second they were yelling, the next they were squeezing a beating heart, and the next the cave was collapsing around them. They started to move, to get out of the cave, but Stan fell as soon as he put weight on his leg again. Mike and Bill ran forward, heaving him to his feet, and taking off. Richie followed behind, the world still spinning. His lungs burned, his throat hurt, and there was blood in one of his eyes and all over his glasses. Ben must have noticed something was up, as he wrapped his arm around Richie and hauled him forward after the others.

They fell onto the concrete, the house collapsing behind them. Richie crawled across the pavement to reach Eddie, who was gasping for breath near the fence. “Baby,” Richie gasped, sitting on his knees and pulling Eddie to him. “Fuck. Okay, We did it. We’re fine. Alive. We’re-”

Eddie turned to him, pressing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. Richie relaxed into it as Eddie’s hands gripped the sides of his head, his fingers pulling at Richie’s hair. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Spaghetti,” Richie whispered, pulling back to see the rest of the group. Bev was resting against Ben’s chest, eyes closed and panting heavily. The other three were sitting on the curb across the street. Richie pulled himself to his feet, stumbling over to the others. “Well, that was rather exciting.” 

The world tilted harshly, and the ground rushed up to meet his side before he even knew what was happening. Mike and Eddie were above him immediately, yelling out to him. Richie blinked, pushing himself up to his elbows. “What’s wrong?” Eddie asked, his hands on Richie’s shoulders, trying to push him back down.

“Dunno,” Richie admitted, ignoring Eddie’s hands and pulling himself up to a sitting position. “Dizzy. My head hurts.” 

“You need to go to the hospital,” Eddie said quickly, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Thanks to his water-proof, drop-proof, It-proof case, his phone seemed to be in working condition. 

“I’m fine,” Richie muttered as Eddie blabbed on the phone, asking for a number of ambulances. 

“Do you even know how fucking hard you hit your head?” Eddie asked, shaking his hand in front of his face. Richie smiled at him, grabbing his hand before he could keep yelling. “You probably have a concussion, or better yet, massive brain damage! How do we know- yes of course, sorry,” Eddie said, his attention drawn back to the phone. 

“The cover story is that the house collapsed on us,” Mike suggested, sitting back on his heels. 

“Yeah because seven forty-year-olds exploring a haunted house is perfectly normal,” Richie pointed out, a dull throb starting in his head. The corners of his vision started to go black, and he reached out to grab Eddie’s arm. “Eddie, it’s bad,” he admitted quietly, the rest of his vision starting to blur. 

Hands helped him lay back down, and he felt his face, unsure if his glasses were on or not. They were. “It’s okay, Chee,” Eddie whispered, his voice right by Richie’s ear. He turned his head to look at him, but his vision went completely black. He blinked rapidly, hoping it would clear. 

“Eddie?” He hated how broken his voice sounded, but there were hands and voices everywhere and he couldn’t tell which were Eddie. “Eddie, I can’t see. It’s all black. Ed-” 

“I’m here,” Eddie said, his voice coming from the same place it had before. He felt a hand press to his cheek, directing his head so that he was facing where Eddie’s voice was. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Am I blind?” Richie gasped, ignoring the fact that no one around him was qualified to answer that. He could hear sirens in the distance, and voice yelling nearby. He tried to focus on Eddie. 

“Richie, you need to stay calm. The ambulance is almost here, I’ll come with you, okay?” Richie nodded, his nose bumping into Eddie’s. “I’m right here.” 

“I’m scared,” Richie whispered, his lips brushing against Eddie’s. 

“What do you tell me when I’m scared, Chee?” 

“That being scared doesn’t make you weak. That- that it doesn’t last forever. That I’ll still be by your side,” Richie whispered.

“That’s right. The same applies to you, okay asshole?” Richie nodded as the sirens shut off, unfamiliar voices surrounding them. “I need help! My husband-” 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi here's the last chapter :) This one talks about suicide and self-harm a lot, just a heads up! Also plenty of Stan and Richie's friendship for you guys :D

“Hi there, my name’s Erica. Can you tell me your name, hun?” Stan flinched as a bright light was shone into his eyes, a young woman holding the other side of a flashlight. 

“Can you not shine that at me?” He asked, shutting his eyes. 

“I need to make sure you don’t have a head injury. What’s your name?”

“Stan. It’s Stan.” He pushed the flashlight away from his face, before opening his eyes carefully. He peered over her shoulder to see Richie being lifted onto a gurney, a brace around his neck. He wasn’t talking, and Eddie was crying. He must have passed out. “Is Richie going to be okay?” 

“That Richie?” Erica asked, peering over her shoulder. Stan nodded when she looked back to him. “I don’t know, they’re going to do everything they can. We need to focus on you right now. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?” Her tone was calm, which, for some reason, drove Stan mad. Richie was  _ dying _ . 

“My leg. My arm. My head,” he told her, watching carefully as Richie was loaded into the ambulance, Eddie clambering in afterwards. 

“Okay, my partner, Jerry, is going to grab the gurney, and then we’ll go to the hospital with your friend, okay?”

“Can Bill come?” Stan asked, watching as the Jerry guy left Bill’s side, walking to the ambulance to get the gurney. 

“Of course.”

“You alright Big Bill?” Stan asked. Bill had a lot of cuts and bruises, but he didn’t look too bad, all things considered. 

“Y-yeah. Juh-juh-just cold,” Bill told him, shaking slightly. He was still dripping wet. Jerry returned with the gurney, and Bill helped him to get Stan onto it without jostling him around too much. They were loaded into the ambulance and set off towards the hospital. 

“So what happened to you guys?” Erica asked once they were heading down the road. Stan looked to Bill, who just shook his head. 

“We were in the house when it collapsed,” Stan explained, watching his heart rate on the monitor. It was well above what it should have been. 

“What were you guys doing in that house? I wouldn’t dare go in there,” Erica said, shaking her head. Neither of them responded. Stan could only imagine the scenarios she was coming up with in her mind.

The ride to the hospital was relatively short. The back door of the ambulance was opened just as Richie was rolled by. Eddie was yelling something, hands flying in every direction, but Stan couldn’t hear over the noise of everyone else. “Hello Stan, I’m Dr. Rice.”

“My friend. He’s hurt-” 

“Dr. Galton is taking care of him. She’s an excellent doctor,” Dr. Rice explained as Stan was rolled out of the ambulance.

“House on Neibolt collapsed,” Erica explained, hopping out of the ambulance with Bill. “There were seven of them inside. Stan’s got trauma to his left leg, right arm, and his head.”

“Alright Stan,” Dr. Rice said after they had transferred him into a hospital bed, and Erica had left. “Is there someone we can call for you?” 

“My wife,” Stan told him. A nurse grabbed his house number and then walked out to go call Patty. “Bill, go check on Rich.” Bill nodded, leaving the room to find the rest of the Losers. 

After an examination, Dr. Rice determined that both his leg and arm were broken, and that he was going to need surgery on his arm. The bones were shattered and something was pinching one of his nerves. He hadn’t even realised his hand had gone numb until Dr. Rice told him that was why he couldn’t feel it. 

When they wheeled him to the operating room, they had to go past the room Richie was in. “Stan? What’s wrong with him?”

“I need surgery on my arm. It’s just broken, it’s fine,” Stan said quickly, leaning over the edge of his gurney to try and see Richie. Mike and Ben had a strong hold on Eddie right outside the room. Eddie was gasping for breath, looking much like he had in the kitchen only a few hours earlier. “Eddie, he’ll be fine. You gotta be brave for him.” Eddie nodded, shutting his eyes and gasping again. “Can someone get him a doctor before he passes out?” He asked as the nurses continued to push him down the hall towards the OR. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_ RichieRichieRichie.  _ Eddie couldn’t breathe. There were too many people touching him. Richie was lying on the bed, unconscious, as a flurry of doctors and nurses ran around the bed. His lungs were on fire. His throat was closed tight. The room was spinning fast. 

More hands were on him, trying to pull him away from Richie. He fought back as hard as he could, scratching, punching, it didn’t matter. He was pushed into a chair, his head hitting the wall behind him.  _ RichieRichieRichie. _

Someone was pulling his phone out of his pocket and pressing his finger to the fingerprint scanner. A mask was pressed over his face, pushing air into his mouth, but he couldn’t draw it into his lungs. Someone ran in front of Richie’s room, blocking his view, and he was on his feet again.

He fell forward, landing on his hands and knees, still gasping for air. There were more people around him. More yelling. He couldn’t see Richie.

And then Richie’s voice was coming out of his phone, held close to his ear, singing the song. Maybe it was a little off pitch, Richie wasn’t the best singer, but Eddie clung to his words as the air finally started to seep into his lungs. He let the song play on repeat until the world was no longer spinning and his breathing was back to normal. 

“Jesus Bev, how’d you know where to find that?” Mike asked as Bev pulled the phone away from his ear. 

“I was just going to play the song, but then I saw this version,” she explained, placing the phone in Eddie’s hand. “Can you breathe now?” Eddie nodded, glancing over her shoulder to where people were still rushing around Richie. 

“Did they say anything?” Eddie asked, barely able to catch a glimpse of Richie through the hospital staff. 

“He had a seizure, they think there’s some brain swelling,” Ben explained carefully, crouching down next to Bev. 

“But that- that can be fatal,” Eddie told them. Ben rubbed his hand over Eddie’s knee before catching his hand. 

“The good news is we’re already at the hospital, and the doctors are working on it,” Ben told him. “Stan’s in surgery right now.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak?” Eddie’s head shot towards the doctor who was standing in front of them. “Hi, I’m Dr. Galton. We found some swelling in your husband’s brain from the injury. We’re going to have to drain in using a process called-”

“Ventriculostomy,” Eddie finished for her. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the wall again. “Okay, yeah. Please do.” 

“Eddie,” Dr. Galton said, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I know you want to be here with him right now, but I’m going to get another doctor to check you and your friends out.”

The man who had treated Stan came over, and ushered Eddie into the room beside Richie’s trauma room. “Hi Eddie. I’m Dr. Rice. I’ll try to make this quick so you can get back to Richie, okay?”

“Thanks,” Eddie said, suddenly feeling twelve years old again, sitting in a Derry hospital bed. 

“You have quite the extensive hospital record here,” Dr. Rice commented, flipping through the chart on his tablet. 

“My mother- it was a bit of a Munchausen by proxy situation, I guess,” Eddie told him with a shrug. He felt  _ embarrassed  _ by it. “She didn’t  _ make _ me sick, but she thought I was sick all the time and I was on a whole bunch of placebos.” 

“I see. Yes, there is a note on here of your mother’s proclivity for medicating you,” Dr. Rice murmured, still looking at the chart. “Right. Are you hurting anywhere?” 

“Not really.”

“What about the cut on your face?” And  _ oh _ , Eddie had been so caught up in everything that was happening, he forgot he had been stabbed. He nodded, letting Dr. Rice take a look at it. “What happened?”

“Uh. Henry Bowers escaped from the mental institute and stabbed me in the face,” Eddie said, _ far _ too casually for someone who had been stabbed. 

“Did you get this patched up by a doctor already? It’s really well cleaned, and the bandaging was perfect.”

“Richie,” Eddie mumbled, closing his eyes to block out the pain as Dr. Rice began to examine, and stitch up his cut. 

“That was a pretty big panic attack out there,” Dr. Rice said, hooking him up to the heart monitor. Your heart looks fine, and your breathing is back to normal. Does that happen often?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed. “I’ve had anxiety all my life and it got better for a while. And then I got attacked a few years ago and it got worse again. I hadn’t had one since May, but I had two today.”

“Alright, and are you taking any medication for them?” Eddie told him the list of meds, feeling embarrassed again. 

“I was down to only the clonazepam for a few years, but I’m back on the whole cocktail now.”

“That’s alright, not having one since May is a good sign that you might be headed back in that direction. I’m thinking today was a fluke, all things considered.” 

Eddie left the room, switching out with Mike, and went to stand outside Richie’s room. Ben, Bill, and Bev were all leaning on one another in the chairs, Bill looking like he was dozing off. A nurse came out of Richie’s room, which now had curtains drawn around it, so Eddie couldn’t see a thing. 

“Mr. Kaspbrak?” 

“That’s me, yes,” Eddie confirmed, pushing himself off the wall. “How’s he doing?”

“We’ve managed to drain most of the fluid,” She told him, and Eddie sighed in relief. “We’re just going to get him closed up, and then you can come in and see him, alright?” 

“Thank you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie was standing beside Richie’s bed. His skin was paler than Eddie has ever seen it, but it was warm to the touch. There was thick bandaging wrapped around his head, bruising peeking out from underneath. Eddie sat in the chair beside the bed carefully, dropping his head onto the mattress and letting the tears return. 

Richie woke up an hour later, a soft smile on his face when their eyes met. “Hi,” he croaked, squinting from the harsh lights in the room.

“Shh, don’t talk,” Eddie told him, pressing the call button to get the doctor. They examined him carefully, asking all sorts of “do you know where you are?” “do you know what happened” questions until they were satisfied that he was okay. Afterwards, they moved him to a recovery room with two beds, and the rest of the Loser’s joined them. 

The second bed was soon filled by Stan, who had just woken up from surgery. Both of them were to stay the night, but would probably be able to leave the next day. As the group sat laughing in the small room, Eddie couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope for what was to come.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Goodnight, don’t annoy the nurses too much,” Eddie told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t flirt with them too much, either.”

“ _ Aww, babe _ , you worried I’m going to find some other hot man who shares all my trauma?” Richie cooed, grabbing Eddie’s hand and pressing it against his own cheek. 

“Fuck  _ off _ , Richie,” Eddie groaned, rolling his eyes. “God, you’re so annoying.”

“I mean, I am rooming with Stanny tonight,” Richie said with a wink towards Stan. Stan rolled his eyes before pulling the sheet over his head. 

“Please break me out of here,” Stan pleaded from under the blanket. 

“You’re on your own there, Stan,” Mike said, pulling the sheet away from Stan’s face. “You’ll live.”

“I’m not too sure,” Stan argued, eyeing Richie.

“What? Think I’m going to kill you with my massive-”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Eddie told him, drawing his attention back. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay? If your head starts to hurt press the button to call the nurse. Don’t do anything too strenuous. Be careful of the staples in your skull and-”

“ _ Oooh,  _ yes Mrs. K, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Richie moaned, rolling his eyes back and pretending it didn’t make his head feel like it was going to explode. 

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Richie countered, opening his eyes and smiling at Eddie. “I’ll be fine, I’m not going to hurt myself sleeping. Besides, Stan’s not going to let me do anything bad.”

“I know, I’m just worried. I thought I was going to lose you,” Eddie took a shaky breath, resting their foreheads together. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Richie whispered, leaning up slightly to press his lips to Eddie’s. “Now go shower, you’re covered in greywater, you’ll get a staph infection or something.”

“Oh,  _ shut up _ ,” Eddie groaned, pulling away. “I love you too, asswipe. See you in the morning.” 

The Loser’s left, Mike’s arm around Eddie to make sure he actually left. Richie closed his eyes, snuggling into the pillow, and sat in silence for a long time, the events of the day playing through his mind. The scenes of the deadlights played behind his eyes for nearly two hours before he realised he wasn’t going to be getting sleep any time soon. He fiddled with his wedding ring, sighing loudly, hoping Stan would be awake. 

“Thank you,” Stan said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. “For keeping your promise and not dying down there.” Richie sighed, fiddling with the blanket. “I’m sorry I was so mad. I just-”

“You’re right,” Richie interrupted. “I do owe you an explanation. Can you promise me something, first?”

“Sure,” Stan’s voice was quiet and steady as if he was worried he might say something wrong. 

“Don’t tell Eddie any of this. He doesn’t know a lot of it and-” Richie took a shuddering breath, his throat tightening slightly. “And he’s already blaming himself for not knowing about the suicide letter.” 

“Of course. My lips are sealed, as per usual when you tell me your secrets and preface them by saying ‘Don’t tell Eddie but....’.” Richie laughed at this, realising just how much he sounded like he was sharing his high school crush all over again. “You only have to tell me as much as you want.”

“Thanks, I-” Richie took a deep breath, letting his head drop back onto the pillow. His brain jolted in his head and he winced. “Alright, I guess I’ll just start.”

“Please,” Stan said and Richie could  _ hear _ his eye roll. Richie nodded, which sent another wave of pain through his head, before  _ finally  _ letting his mouth run.

“I came home from the clubhouse that night and like, normally when I came home late the tv was on loud, there were empty beer cans everywhere, my parents were laughing at a racist joke on the television. I’d sneak into the kitchen, grab some dinner that had been left on the table and go up to my room without a word to my parents. Pretty typically Tuesday night.

“This time was different. I came into the house and it was  _ silent _ . There was no  alcohol anywhere. They were  _ sober _ , and honestly, that was scarier because that meant something was wrong. I- y’know, went into the kitchen to try and find dinner and they were just sitting at the table with my fucking gay magazines open.”

“ _ Fuck _ , Richie.”

“I’ve thought about it a million times, all the things I could have said, the fucking _ excuses _ I could have come up with, but Stan, I just froze. My dad asked me why I had them and I just stared at him with my mouth open. He started yelling and I started  _ apologizing _ . It’s so  _ fucking  _ stupid. Why didn’t I lie? I’d been lying to everyone about it but just seeing it in front of me made it so real.” Richie’s voice shook as he forced the words out. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes to try and stop the tears from forming. 

“My dad grabbed me and beat the shit out of me. He- I mean, he was always beating the shit out of me, but this time I didn’t think he was going to stop. He broke a fucking plate on my head, man. I- Stan. I thought I was going to die. I was  _ screaming  _ for help but nobody came. Obviously. Why would they? It wasn’t like my  _ mom _ gave a damn. Normally she’d, y’know, tell him to stop so they wouldn’t need to pay hospital bills or whatever, but this time she wasn’t stopping him.

“I managed to get myself to my room and lock the door. He didn’t follow me, but I could hear them yelling downstairs.” Stan sniffled and Richie paused, the reality of his situation setting in. “Look man, don’t feel bad. You didn’t know.” Stan said nothing, only waited for him to continue.

“Right, so I packed my shit and wrote the letter. I hadn’t fully made my mind up yet. Maybe I had. I don’t know. Did you ever read the letter?” 

“No, only your parents did.” 

“Good. That’s- it’s pretty pathetic, looking back on it. I said shit about how I loved them even though they didn’t love me, and that I appreciated everything they’d done for me, and hadn’t thrown me to an orphanage. My dad used to threaten to do that a lot. I apologised for the whole gay thing and told them it wasn’t their fault that I turned out  _ dirty  _ and  _ broken _ and-” 

Stan was sitting beside him, something a man in his medical state should  _ not _ be doing, and pulled Richie to him. “Richie, listen to me,” he said in that same stern voice he would get as a kid. “You are  _ not  _ broken. You are  _ not  _ dirty. And you did  _ not _ deserve any of that. Do you understand?” 

Richie nodded, suddenly very aware of the tears on his face. “We’re not even to the dark part yet, Stanny, don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

“Rich,” Stan said sadly, messing with Richie’s hair. 

“I left out the window before they could figure out a plan to kill me, or whatever, and drove around for a bit. By a bit, I mean about six hours. I had to fill up my gas I drove around so long.

“I thought about going to your house, but your dad scared me a little bit, and I wasn’t in the mood for any other father figures. And then I thought about Ben’s, or Mike’s, but they didn’t feel right. Obviously there was Eddie but I was still scared of him finding out I was gay. So I tried to figure out how to kill myself. That makes it sound like it was just out of the blue, but the thought had been there since the first time we fought It. 

“Buckle up, Stanley, time for a wild ride,” Richie rubbed at his eyes again, laying back down on the pillow. “I thought of maybe driving my car off a cliff, but I liked that car a lot. I worked hard for it, it was still in good condition, y’know. Sounds like a weak excuse now, but I think I was trying to talk myself out of it. I found a cliff and everything. I also got out of the car and thought about jumping off but like, what if I fucked up and was just laying there bleeding out for hours?

“So I went back into town, thought maybe I’d buy a gun, but then I realised I didn’t know how to use a gun, so I decided on a knife. I grabbed the one from Bev out of my bag and then do you know where I went?”

“The clubhouse?”

“Neibolt,” Richie admitted quietly. “I walked through the fucking door, down the stairs, and right up to the well. Part of me was hoping It would pop out, but the cycle was off so I just sat there with my back against the well and stared at the wall for like an hour. Eventually, I used the knife,” Richie pulled back his sleeve, pointing to a jagged scar on his arm. “I didn’t cut deep enough, and I went to Eddie’s right after and told him my dad did it so he patched me up.”

“Why’d you change your mind?” 

“I was sitting there, this blade in my arm, and I had this weird moment of panic about how many germs would be getting into my cuts. So then I was thinking about Eddie and I was a mess by this point, man, but I figured I might as well. What if I told him, y’know? I couldn’t be at a lower place than I was, and there was always a slim chance he’d reciprocate, and then what? 

“So I made this plan. I go there, come clean, tell him I’m leaving Derry and ask him to come. If he said yes, we’d leave Derry. If he said no, I’d go back to Neibolt.”

“How much of this does he know?”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there, calm ya tits,” Richie told him, flicking his wrist dramatically. “I went to his house and he let me in. Didn’t even ask me what happened until after he’d already started patching me up. I told him my dad found my magazines, beat me up, and that I was leaving. I asked him to come, and he said yes and I kissed him. That’s all he knows. All he knew until the letter was brought up.” 

“Did you remember any of that? Either of you?”

“Not really,” Richie admitted. “I remembered the feeling, and we remembered we ran away and had bad parents, except Eddie’s dad because we brought pictures of him and he looked happy so he had to be okay. That’s why we decided on Kaspbrak, and then I just used Tozier for my stage name.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? You could have written.”

“I think that was the plan, once we got settled somewhere, so we could send you an actual address. It took us a long time. We were on the road for months, we lived out of that car for almost a  _ year _ . Once we finally got a place we’d already started forgetting.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, there- do you want me to keep going?” 

“Do you want to?”

“I mean, there’s a lot more, and I’ve never said  _ any _ of this out loud.”

“You should try a therapist,” Stan laughed, way too loud for the quiet room. “You can keep talking, I want to listen.” 

“God I missed you, Stan. So, yeah. I guess I continued to struggle with the whole gay thing and the depression and the suicide thing and it made me feel  _ guilty _ . That I almost killed myself and took our life away from Eddie. Man, that still kills me. He would have stayed in Derry with his fucking abusive mother, went to some shitty college, married a woman  _ exactly _ like his mom.

“Anyway, there was a lot of self-harm and stuff that stemmed from the whole knife in Neibolt situation. Eddie found me one time with a razor, kinda talked me down from it. I didn’t tell him how bad it was. Obviously like, he could see some of it, cause, y’know, sex, but there was some non-visible stuff too. Eventually, we built our life up and things were better and I was happy, man. Both of us got good careers and we were doing so well. I mean I was struggling with the gay thing and the gay in Hollywood thing, but it’s something that I could live with.

“Then one day, about eight years ago, Eddie came home and he’d gotten the shit beat out of him. Some guys had overheard him say something about a ‘husband’ and just flipped. He spent a week in the hospital, which had nothing to do with the whole hypochondriac business. Y’know, that was pretty much gone at that point. He uh, he was only on anti-anxiety meds and figured out that he was only actually allergic to cashews and a certain medication. Stan, he wasn’t even afraid of germs anymore. 

“And then that happened and actually that night I’d gone to my manager and asked to come out. I was in such a good place that I was ready to be out.”

“That’s fantas-”

“So my manager dropped me, and I came home and Eddie was bleeding all over the floor. After we got home from the week in hospital we both relapsed  _ hard _ . I mean, look at us. I can’t write my own jokes because for years the depression was too bad and now I’m just scared people are going to figure out that I’m gay. Eddie went right back to believing everything his mom had taught him. He was taking placebos around the clock, washing his hands every twenty minutes on the dot, dragging me around to make sure I’d do the same. 

“To be honest, Stan, it was worse for him. I could tell he was suffering and wanted to go back to how things were, so I pulled some strings and got him into this therapist who deals with people who have hypochondria and OCD and I’ve been helping to get him back. It’s been going really well, actually. He’s off the placebos again, and the handwashing thing has gotten better.”

“What about your therapy, Rich?” Stan asked, playing with his hair again. 

“I- I think I’ve been too scared of admitting all of this. Y’know, and now it’s like, I’m going to need therapy for this and how the fuck do you find a therapist who won’t put you on antipsychotics when you tell them you bullied a psycho-alien-clown to death?”

Stan started laughing again, and Richie joined in. “Sir,” he said, putting on his best therapist voice. “Don’t panic, but we’re going to be locking you away for the rest of your life. Now, what did you say your friends’ names were again? Stanley Uris?” 

The pair laughed for a few more minutes before the silence settled over them again

“So, quid pro quo?” Richie asked, messing with Stan’s curls. Stan glared at him, before sighing.

“Alright. I was twelve when I defeated the alien-murder-clown the first time. For the next few years, I had the best time of my life, hanging out with my friends. Bev and Bill moving away was hard, but I coped. And then one day I woke up and the police were at the door and my mom was crying. My two best friends were missing and there was a fucking suicide note.”

“I’m so sor-”

“It’s done. It’s over. I just- fuck, Richie. I always idolized you, you know that? You were my fucking hero, I thought you were exactly who I wanted to be. You were so annoying and loud and  _ proud _ and I just, I wanted to be like you. I didn’t want to be weak, I wanted to be happy and brave like  _ Richie Tozier _ . And then Richie Tozier went and killed himself and everything I had built in my head about you  _ crumbled _ .

“I tried everything to forget it, man. Alcohol, coke, sex, Hell, I almost followed in my dad’s footsteps and became a fucking Rabbi. But then I went to school and I met Patty and I forgot  _ why _ I had been so upset, I just knew that those few years were something I  _ never _ wanted to revisit. 

“Shit man, I’m a fucking asshole.”

“Yes, you sure are. But you were also given the short straw and you didn’t deserve anything that happened to you. Except for Eddie. You deserve Eddie and all the happiness that came with that.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

“Patty and I got married in 2001 and we uh, we’ve been trying on and off for kids ever since. Patty had six miscarriages and two still-births. By the time we were considering adoption, I think we were just too tired of the pain.”

“We tried to adopt a whole bunch of times, but it kept getting denied. Either the gay thing was an issue or the missing info on the background checks.”

“I really want to be a dad, Rich,” Stan admitted. Richie saw a tear slip down his face. “I think I’d be a  _ really good  _ dad.”

“You’d be incredible.” 

“I think I’ll give it one more try when we give back, and then maybe talk to Patty about adoption.”

“Maybe now that we know our family histories and all, we can get approved,” Richie whispered, playing with his sheets again. “And I’m going to go to therapy when I get back, I think. To help with the depression and the internalized homophobia thing.” 

“Maybe I’ll move to L.A.,” Stan said, pushing himself off the bed and maneuvering back to his bed. 

“You’d hate L.A.”

“I think I’ll hate being away from all of you more,” Stan admitted. “Besides, there’s a bird species called the California Clapper Rail that I would love to see.”

“You’re going to move to California for a bird?” 

“Yes, Richie, I think I am.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Richie kept his promise of going to therapy. He found a good therapist who helped him accept who he was. In 2019, he came out during his third Netflix special. He brought Eddie up on stage and started crying. Eddie was getting better too. He stopped going to his therapist a year after leaving Derry because he was doing well enough to manage on his own.

Stan and Patty moved to L.A., and the pair had a set of twin girls a year later, born perfectly healthy. They named them Rachel and Eleanor. Stan said it had nothing to do with Richie and Eddie, and that they had named them after two friends Stan had lost a long time ago. Richie cried about that, too. 

Mike moved to Florida and started up a business. He never married, but he had five dogs to keep him company. They were all shelter dogs who had been the only survivors when a bungalow burnt down near Mike’s house. 

Bill went back to his wife and started writing again. He wrote a book about It, and then he started branching out into other genres. He wrote a story about a boy losing his little brother, and one about a woman leaving her abusive husband and taking control of her own life. Richie cried while reading it. 

Ben and Beverly got married a few months after everyone left Derry. They adopted a dog, had a baby boy named George, and built themselves the picture-perfect life. They were more in love than any other couple Richie knew. 

Eddie and Richie adopted two kids. A girl, named Maya, who had been living in the foster system for years. She was ten when they adopted her. Parker was only four when they adopted him. Eddie stayed up every night with him, reading him the same book his own father had read to him as a child. 

Richie’s life wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot. But despite everything that had happened, he felt like the luckiest man on Earth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think :D
> 
> ***If you would like to make art of this fic, or use specific scenes and/or dialogue for your own works, please let me know in the comments or message me on tumblr @tommo-stylinson. I would love to collaborate and give you a shoutout! But please do not steal my ideas and claim them as your own***


End file.
